


A Mile a Minute, A Tear a Second

by Deerstalker221



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Carer John, Caretaking, Domeciliary Care, Domeciliary Carer Irene Adler, Domeciliary Carer John, Domeciliary Carer Mike Stamford, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Misunderstanding Parents, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Teen John Watson, Teen Romance, Teen Sherlock, Teenagers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-02
Updated: 2018-12-23
Packaged: 2019-02-26 14:14:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 5,652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13237431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Deerstalker221/pseuds/Deerstalker221
Summary: When the Holmes family bring up their youngest son, Sherlock Holmes, they slowly start to realise that taking care of his needs is too much for Mummy and Father to deal with alone. After Mycroft leaves for university, the Holmes parents must decide to hire the care they need for their son. Is recently hired, John Watson, up for the task?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'd like to thank everyone for their continued support of my older and longer WIP. It's very much appreciated. I hope you all enjoy reading this! :3 x - Deerstalker221
> 
> A/N: Just in case you didn't know, a domiciliary carer is a caring professional that drives to different patient's homes and provide care to fit their needs. In the UK these carers are usually employed by private companies.

Tension pooled in the air, making the atmosphere seem so dense that one would be able to slice into it. John felt his lungs tightening from it, he drummed his fingers against the desk and allowed his eyes to trace the patterns that were printed on its surface. His cyan eyes flicked across the various faces that were sat with him at the table, their muscles were just as taught with the pent-up tension.

Sat opposite John, her hands folded neatly on the table top was a woman. Her complexion was so clear and fresh, her skin pale and silken, that it was impossible for the woman to have been any older than eighteen, just a few years younger than John, himself. Her raven hair was drawn back and tied in a neat bun high atop her head, causing her already angular face to accentuate her features. She wore a short-sleeved white summer dress, her slender arms hanging loosely from her shoulders and her hands gently clasped together, her red-painted acrylic nails reflected the harsh white artificial light in the room. Her silver eyes trained on John and narrowed, their power struck the man and he quickly averted his gaze, allowing them to fall on the man sat beside the woman.

The hulking mass of a man filled the seat beside the woman. His eyes were soft and brown, framed by thick-lensed glasses. A soft flush painted his forehead and cheeks, a light sheen of sweat lingered at his brow and dampened his short and receding mousy hair. The man donned a white shirt, slightly discoloured with spilled tea, a yellow tie hung from his neck - its end hidden behind the table. His hands were beneath the table, but his biceps seemed quite taught as if the man was gripping something quite tightly.

Sat at to the right of John was Bill Murry, a lad that John had been friends with since secondary school. He wore a loose blue cotton top and stone grey jeans. His hair was a dusting of dark brown and shades that were almost as dark as black. His face lacked any sign of aging and he still looked the twat of a fourteen-year-old that John remembered meeting in year nine, although both Bill and he were twenty-one in the coming months, between the two John seemed to be the one that had aged. His skin was smooth, but about his mouth sat laugh lines and carved into his brow were years of concentration and study. His golden hair had been combed straight that morning and he adorned a light blue button down, stone grey jeans and a soft grey cardigan.

The clicking of the door handle broke the silence of the group and John's eyes flicked to the entrance as he watched a well-dressed but much older man step into the room. Knotted flesh marred the skin beside his right eye, the scar beginning in his hairline and ending at his jaw. His eyes were piercing as he straightened his suit jacket before taking a seat at the head of the table. "Hello everyone, some of you met me in your interviews, but I am your care manager. My name is James Sholto. You may call me James, and I'm here to formally welcome you all to the company. I am proud to announce that you have all successfully finished your training." His voice was stern and unforgiving as he took his time to stare at each individual at the table. "You'll all be awarded the care certificate and I'll expect you all to finish the workbooks supplied to you in your binders."

At the man's mention of the binders, John felt his fingers twitch over the tanned leather cover that had been given to them at the beginning of their week of training. Each day they had been supplied with several different workbooks that they had slipped into plastic sleeves to be clipped into place on the metal loops of their binders. 

"As for now, you're all on a three-month probationary period where you will have three weeks of shadowing several calls. When shadowing, you'll meet the patients and learn how we are being paid to help them, as you've been taught in your training. The administrator will give you all your tunics and you'll be expected to go and shadow what will be your regulars." Sholto explained.

Almost as if summoned by Sholto's words, a slender red-haired woman sauntered from behind the door, key in her hand as her eyes fell on each of them, fixing on the raven-haired woman for a moment longer than the rest of them. "I'm Kate. I'll call each of you through into the back room to give you your gloves, shoe covers, and aprons along with your tunic and timetable. Once you've received your timetable, please feel free to make your way to your first patient."

 

\----------------------------------------- ########### --------------------------------------------

 

John twisted the key in the ignition and listened as the engine fell into silence. The light of midday hummed and lit the surrounding scenery as John sat outside the door of his first patient's home. The home was as large as a small mansion and surrounded by acres of land, it had taken the blond a minute or two to drive the length of the driveway. his blue eyes were wide as he continued to survey the house, the size of it much larger than anywhere he had seen before. 

A tap at his window jolted John from his thoughts. His eyes widened as he gasped and whipped his head towards the man stood before the window. He was tall, lean and his hair had long since accepted a salt and pepper combination. His eyes were a soft hazel, his skin a light caramel as he smiled down towards John. The blond opened his car door and frowned in confusion. "Hello?" He muttered quietly.

In answer the man unzipped his hoodie to reveal his light blue tunic, a white star emblem stitched into the right side of the breast. "Name's Greg. You John, the newbie?" He asked. A thick London accent lilted against his words. John nodded in answer and pulled himself from the car, the gravel crunched under his weight as he set his feet on the ground.   
"Yeah, that's me." He answered and held out his hand in greeting. The older man took it with another warm smile.

Silence descended on the pair as they both stole the gaze from each other to settle on the house before them. "So, your first call is Holmes," Greg muttered, almost regretfully. John's chest tightened with anxiety at the sound.  
"Is that a bad thing?" His brows furrowed in interest and curiosity. Greg shrugged and let out a chuckle.  
"It depends if Holmes likes you or not." Greg shrugged once more and chuckled lightly.

John's brow furrowed further, but rather than ask more questions, he pulled his phone out to flick through his first patient's details. Greg paused in his words to glance at John's phone screen and pointed to the patient's name. "It says William Holmes as his name, but you'll never get an answer from the kid. Your best bet is to call him Sherlock." Greg muttered.   
"Why Sherlock? What kind of name is that anyway?" John asked with a sneer of confusion, casting his eyes back to the house as if he could see their patient through the thick walls.  
"A middle name. The family calls him it. He can be a brat if you don't use his chosen name, just a warning." Greg chuckled once more before turning on his heel and walking towards the large house.

John watched Greg's retreating back and began to follow, thoughts swirling in his head at the image he was developing of William - no - Sherlock Holmes.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John meets Sherlock.

John felt his feet hard on the gravel floor, his eyes flicked from the large door and to Greg before skipping over to that large door once more. Greg had just pulled the almost comical rope that activated the ridiculously loud doorbell. For a second, John had been transported to the many episodes of Scooby Doo he had watched as a child when such an over the top doorbell had been used. 

The blond was startled for a moment when a fair-haired but older woman answered the door. She donned a plumb jumper over her black slacks and atop them she wore a floral but frilly apron, John had half expected a Lurch look-a-like to sprout at the door with his deep resonation of 'You rang.'  
"Hello, young gentlemen. I'll escort you to the lounge where Mrs. Holmes resigns." John felt his face draw close in a frown of confusion as the lady spoke, her voice a soft tone, a nanny to any child. John mused, but his eyes trained on Greg, silently beckoning to answer his unspoken question.

As if sensing John's confusion, for Greg hadn't spared a glance at the blond, he spoke. "For each visit, we're expected to greet the mother first. Then she directs us to where we can find Sherlock or she calls him in herself." He explained. "Depends on the day." He muttered with a halfhearted shrug of his shoulders. John nodded at that and walked with Greg as they followed the housekeeper and to the lounge.

Reclined on a luxurious leather sofa and sipping at a still steaming cup of tea was a thin lady. Her body was tall and her nose was aristocratic, his eyes sharp and piercing as she glanced at both John and Greg in turn. "I see you have a shadow." She muttered. As she spoke, John could hardly keep himself from marvelling at her beauty. Cream skin with raven hair and painted lips. John had to keep himself from blushing under her eyes.

"Yes, Mrs Holmes, This is John Watson, only just joined the company." He muttered. Mrs Holmes nodded in reply and trained her eyes on John.  
"Is this your first call?" She asked.  
"Yes." John nodded. She smiled almost predatorily.  
"Indeed." She drawled as her eyes slid over his frame. "Sherlock is upstairs in his room."

Greg nodded and tugged on John's arm as he lead the way to the large staircase. "You'll have to be careful what you say around her," Greg warned.  
"Why?"  
"She owns the company." He explained. 

At Greg's words, John felt his eyes widen and he gave Greg a double take. "Excuse me?" He scoffed. "Head of the company? Our company?" He spluttered. Greg nodded with a smirk and continued walking across the hall. "That way is the first-floor bathroom, that way is the office - you shouldn't have to go in there - and these are the Holmes Sons' bedrooms and living spaces. Mycroft and Sherlock's accordingly." Greg informed John as he pointed to each door. "There are stairs that lead to a second and third floor above this, but they're the master bedroom and attic."

John was still trying to recite what each door lead to when Greg knocked on one of the doors that he had informed John was Sherlock's living room. John could have scoffed once again at the thought of having a living room allocated to one person. But, he supposed, when you have a mother that is the head of a care business, one would expect such a thing. John was pulled out of his musing when he heard the deep baritone calling them both in. 

Greg opened the door and stepped across the threshold and into Sherlock's living space, John following closely behind him. Once they both entered, John felt his eyes widen once more as he took in the surroundings. The living area was large as a spacious living room would be in a terraced house, an open glass door leading to a balcony, twin curtains bustled in the wind pouring in from it. Paper had been flung across the room, littering the floor and every available surface, a desk occupied one wall of the room, and sat at it, was a young boy. His school jumper still covered his body, back facing them along with the back of his curly raven hair. 

"Sherlock. I have John shadowing me today." Greg informed.  
"I know." Came the monotonous reply. "Money or personal interest?"  
Greg cut his gaze to John waiting for the man to answer.  
Even though Sherlock's back was facing John, he felt as if all eyes in the room were trained on him and he felt a flush paint his neck and cheeks. "I-I'm sorry?"  
"Oh no need to apologise, Mister Watson. Just please answer." The boy spun his chair to meet their eyes, they were as piercing as the child's mother. At the continued silence, Sherlock gave an exaggerated sigh. "I can see by your shoes that you're not a wealthy man, but in the way that you wear your tunic with pride suggests you have an aspiration to be in the medical profession. But if a man like yourself is so poor, you'd need money to support your family. A family that is hindering your need to attend uni, and so this lands you in the need to get a decent paying job for someone who has never been able to attend uni - by your obvious age - and your wish to be a medical professional. And so, I ask you again. Money or personal interest?"

"P-Personal interest." John stuttered out. "How did you know all that?" He asked, affronted. The boy rolled his eyes in a response.  
"I didn't know, I observed you and made a deduction."  
"Amazing." That one word seemed to have escaped from John's mouth as he seemed just as shocked by his utterance of it as the other two in the room seemed to. But on further thought, he had meant it.

The brunette smirked and nodded. "Right, you can stay." He hummed. John blinked, once again reeling. "If you had said you're purely here for the money, I'd have forced you to leave, but not because I think you'd be a scoundrel, but because you'd have lied to me. I knew the answer all along." He admitted.

"Yep, he's like that majority of the time. An absolute git." Greg muttered with a chuckle but pulled out his latex gloves. "Anyway, shall we get on with things?" He prompted, but John could barely pay any attention to Greg for he was consumed in that instant by the young man who sat before them. His lanky frame, pale skin and intimidating mind all lead to one question. Why were they here?


	3. Chapter 3

John was broken out of his reverie at the sound of Greg snapping the gloves onto his hands. His blue eyes twitched from Sherlock's pale and striking features and landed squarely on Greg's plastic covered fingers. A furrow crinkled John's brow. "Do we give personal care?" He asked, almost incredulously as he shot another glance to Sherlock's young, and for the most part seemingly perfectly functioning body.

The grey-haired man chuckled wryly at the sight on John's face. "Not as such, we ensure his room is tidy, along with his personal hygiene. The kid doesn't come out of his head for long times and his mother --." Before Greg could finish that sentence, Sherlock's scathing voice cut through.  
"My mother seems to be a witless bag who feels that my mental state is, in some aspects higher than average, but is lacking in the... 'normal'... aspects that ordinary people seem to flourish in." Sherlock spat out the word, normal as if it were a foul taste in his mouth. "But in answer to your question, what I need is not for you to wipe my arse or brush my hair. I'm perfectly capable of that aspect myself. What my mother pays you for is my mental state. She wants to ensure that I have ample human connection. The reason for Greg's want for gloves is not for my sake but for his own. He is aware that my experiments can become... biohazardous. So he wishes to ensure that his skin is protected at all times." Sherlock finished with a sharp glance to the two carers and then pulling his phone from his pocket to check the screen. "I'm going for a cigarette. Would you clean my floor for me?" The question wasn't so much as a question, but an order.

Greg gave a bemused sigh and moved to a cupboard, labelled 'CARERS' where he retrieved a black back and the needed brushes. John frowned as he watched Greg do that. "No." John huffed. "Cigarettes are bad for you, for one, and for a second thing, we're not your housekeepers. We're your carers. We are here to care for you rather than the state of your floor." He answered with a tone of solidity.

John's no-nonsense tone was enough to draw Sherlock's attention back to him. The young man raised a thin and sleek brow in interest, a cigarette hanging from his lips as he surveyed John. He silently twisted to face the man, keeping the cigarette in place, he slowly stepped towards him with a sardonic expression twitching at the side of his smirking mouth. "So tell me. How else could you service me?" He rumbled, voice crinkling with his deep tone.

The blond swallowed audibly and peeked his tongue out to lick his lips. He gave a quick sigh as he floundered for a second, his eyes falling on a pile of boxes, from their distance away, he could see that the boxes were in actual fact board games. "We could... Play a game? Go for a walk?" He offered. 

Sherlock sneered at the man and stalked further into his personal space. "And tell me. Why would I do that?"


	4. Chapter 4

John's eyes flashed at the teen as he sauntered further into his space. John gave a wry smile and shrugged. "We are here because you don't have friends - or at least you find it difficult to make them. Friends play games together, they have fun and friends. I'll be happy to make you a sandwich or a cup of tea later, but first, you need to learn that not everything can go your way. We aren't your housekeepers, nor are we your 'help'." John muttered with a no-nonsense tone in his voice. He stuck his chin out, almost begging Sherlock to challenge him on his statement. 

Sherlock frowned and pulled away, his eyes constantly watching the man. "Hmm." He hummed and nodded. "Cluedo." He told the man. "I want to play Cluedo."  
John grinned and nodded, he moved to the shelf and retrieved the game from the shelf. "Well, that's one of my favourite games." He muttered. "I used to play it with my sister."  
"We don't need to hear about your backstory." Sherlock sneered. John shrugged and smiled warmly at Sherlock.  
"Okay then, why do you like Cluedo?" He asked.

Sherlock frowned. John hadn't sniped or snapped back at him, he had merely situated a sharp state of control. "I..." Sherlock stuttered and shook his head. "I like the idea of crimes. They... It's exquisite." 

At their short conversation, John glanced to the other man in the room, Greg hadn't moved since introducing John to the boy. "Are you going to sit with us, Greg?" John offered with a wry smile. Said man seemed to have been pulled from his shocked silence and nodded softly. "Err. Yeah sure. Thanks." He muttered quickly and took a seat beside John and opposite Sherlock.  
"Alright boys, do you know the rules?" John asked the other two.

Greg glanced at Sherlock and nodded, he studied Sherlock's fained bored expression and smirked to himself. No one had ever gotten the brunette to quieten down or spend time playing games with them. "Who starts?" Greg asked.   
"How about we start with the youngest?" John offered and they both glanced at Sherlock, who smiled wryly and took the die. For all the teen's squabbling retorts or snide comments, he was still but a young man, a young man who needed the care and respect from his peers, the people who had always bullied him. For years anyone who'd met Sherlock had written him off as a lost cause. But with a little care and respect, anyone could flourish.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath of cluedo

"That is not the solution." John muttered calmly, Mrs Holmes had brought them all a cup of tea and smiled at the two carers playing with her son.

"But it's the only possible solution." Sherlock retorted.

John patted down his blue tunic and took a sip of his rapidly cooling tea. "The victim couldn't have done it Sherlock."

"Why not?"

"Guys, why don't we do something else. Sherlock, how are you feeling? Is there anything else you want to do?" He asked.

"Please, Gregory." Sherlock snapped. "I am not a toddler in need of comforting."

"Right, sorry Sherlock." Greg replied, his tone hard in his own irritation.

"I want to be left alone." Sherlock snapped.

 

John frowned at this response and moved to stand, he glanced around the untidy room and finished his tea. "Why don't we go for a walk?" He asked. "Greg, how long have we got left in the call?" He asked.

Greg glanced down at his watch. "About twenty minutes."

"Right, Sherlock, lets go for a walk."

Sherlock had already fled away from the table and was curled on the sofa. "No." He responded.

"Why not?" John asked.

"I don't want to."

John sighed and moved closer to the brunette, he sat on the sofa and touched Sherlock softly on the knee.

"DON'T TOUCH ME!" Sherlock screamed and pushed himself away. His breathing suddenly came erratically as he curled tighter around himself whimpering. 

John jumped back at Sherlock's shout and scooted away and off the sofa. He stood near Greg and glanced in concern between the two. "I'm sorry." He muttered. 

"Leave me alone." Sherlock whined.

"Okay, we'll go." Greg placated him and took John's arm. "Come on, he's dismissing us early. We'll quickly talk to Mrs Holmes and see what she says. 

The two men ushered themselves out of the untidy room and walked through the house until they got to the living room, used and empty cups in hand they smiled sheepishly at Mrs Holmes.

The woman glanced up and smiled at the two. "What happened?"

"Cluedo didn't go all that well." John admitted, the woman chuckled. "I..."

"Sherlock dismissed us early, he got quite upset when John touched him. I don't know what you want us to do, if there is anything." Greg asked.

Mrs Holmes took in the information calmly and smiled at the two. "Very well, if he said he wants to be alone, then that's what he wants, thank you both for coming. When will we see you again?" She asked.

Greg shrugged and John pulled out his mobile to check his rota. "I should be here again tomorrow." He confirmed.

"I don't know when I'll be here." Greg muttered. 

Mrs Holmes smiled, "Okay, well I'll see you tomorrow John, I will be speaking with the office soon anyway to make some slight changes to Sherlock's care plan."

John nodded. "Okay, see you tomorrow."

Mrs Holmes quietly showed the two carers to the door and smiled maternally as she watched the two men climb into their cars and drive away.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John goes home.

John put his car into gear and pulled away from the house, again, the driveway seemed to lead on for minutes rather than seconds, the gravel of the pathway flicking up and tapping the bottom of his car. Greg had seemed to collected when Sherlock had shouted the way that he had. It was clear to John that the boy had mental difficulties. It ran a good few paces faster than John had ever seen anyone be able to think. He remembered his professors at school and the way the most intelligent of them would speak and seemed to think, Sherlock seemed to be on another level entirely. 

The boy obviously needed and wanted company. The way that he seemed to come to light at the suggestion of playing Cluedo. John grinned at the memory of the image, the bright smile and twinkling eyes as Sherlock agreed to play Cluedo. The roads were blanketed with the shadows of dusk, warded off by the orange sodium street lights that hung like tired and aching gate keepers. He rounded the roundabout and continued his journey home when a flashing memory of Sherlock's horrific scream filled his mind. Sherlock didn't seem angry, he seemed scared. He seemed terrified by the slightest touch. Thoughts continued to dance through John's mind as he winded into the tiny driveway of his own home. He slipped out of the car, locked it and trudged to his doorstep, pulling his phone out of his pocket, he called Greg. The dialling tone hummed rhythmically as he was connected. "Hullo John." Greg answered almost groggily. 

"Hi, I didn't mean to wake you."   
"Na mate, whassup?"  
John worried his lower lip. "Sherlock."  
"Yeah?"  
"What happened earlier? He just screamed at me?"

John heard Greg huff and shuffling came over as a scratchy noise through the phone's tinny speaker, "Yeah. I don't know, the majority of the other carers seem to think that it's just a behavioural problem."  
"Behavioural?" John asked.   
"Yeah, I mean you saw the place, John." Greg muttered, "He must have a silver spoon so high up his arse hole, it's no wonder people think he's a brat."  
John remained silent as Greg spoke.  
"People think that because his parents own the care company, that he gets treated like a saint. Acts like it too, little shit." Greg muttered with a huff of quiet laughter.

"You keep saying that 'people think.' What do you think?" John asked. There was silence.  
"I don't know what to think John. Honestly, I don't know if it's his upbringing that makes him the way he is, but I am certain that the kid needs help, either from us or someone else." Greg muttered. "Either way, it is what it is." He explained.  
John nodded, knowing Greg couldn't see him. "I guess. But something just doesn't sit right with me." He muttered. Greg hummed on the end of the line. 

"I wouldn't trouble yourself too much over it. Are you on your way home, have you made it?"  
"Yeah, just got here, why?" John asked.  
"You need to just get a drink and chill out. Don't let Sherlock Holmes wind you up like this." John remained silent after Greg finished speaking. "You say you're there tomorrow?" Greg asked.  
"Yeah I am. Why?"  
"Worry about it then. Don't let work take over your private life or you'll have no escape. Trust me." Greg told him.

"Okay mate. Thanks." John muttered hollowly as he unlocked and closed the door behind him. "Look, I'm gonna do what you said and just have a cup of tea and take a nap."  
"Alright mate. Speak to you later, yeah?"  
"Sure."

John pulled the phone away and hung up before toeing his shoes off and ambling into the kitchen. Just as John flicked the kettle on his phone began ringing. John muttered an expletive before picking it up and glancing at the caller ID. The office. He sighed and answered it. "Hello?" He asked.   
"Hi John, sorry to call so late, but I need a favour." The coordinator on the end of the line asked.  
"Yeah, sure what's up?"  
"I just had a call from one of the directors." John instantly thought of the lithe frame of Mrs Holmes. As if reading John's mind, the coordinator clarified, "Sherlock Holmes' mother." 

"Right?"  
"Well, she wants to extend his care plan and has wanted to convert it into a live in plan."   
"Wait... What's a live in plan? Why are you telling me this?" John asked, his chest tightening with his own wave of anxiety over the situation.  
"A live in care plan is where the carer will live with the patient for several days before taking a couple of days break and then returns again. I wanted to ask, since you have received such a good report from Mrs Holmes, if you wanted to be the carer to step in during and possibly after the conversion."

John's brows furrowed. "I got a good review?"  
"Yeah, from Sherlock himself apparently." 

John huffed and closed his eyes in thought. "What's going to happen during the conversion?"  
"So, we will send a carer in to see Sherlock for more than half an hour, we were thinking for eight hours for a couple of weeks before finally sending in a carer to live there for five days and have two days break. Would you be interested?" The coordinator asked.

John frowned once more and shook his head in disbelief of the entire conversation. "Umm, yeah, I guess. I'll give it a go."  
"Great! I'll take any other calls off you and you can just go to Mr Holmes. It starts at 6am tomorrow for eight hours. You get a two hour break between the two four hour slots. You should finish at at five in the evening."  
"Okay..." John mumbled.  
"Thanks again John, I'll have a new rota sent to you by email soon. Bye!"

The coordinator hung up and left John stood in his dark kitchen, the kettle long since clicked. He glanced around the room and slumped onto a chair. "Fuck."


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John arrives for his second Holmes visit.

John sat in his car and stared at the large house, the cool fog of morning still hung in the air as soft tendrils of warm golden light shone through it and onto the dewy gravel stones of the driveway. John's hair was still slightly damp from his shower earlier that day and his stomach seemed to be tensed and tight with thick and viscous anxiety. His lack of experience as a carer gnawed at the edges of his mind as he clambered out of his small car, bracing himself for his second day as a carer. 

The uneven ground crunched with each step as he made his way to the door of the house, he pressed the ivory doorbell. Chimes sang out from within the house, as John waited to be let in. The same woman from the day prior opened the door a crack. "Hello John." She greeted with a warm smile, she smelt faintly of cookie dow. John's brow furrowed.   
"How do you know my name?" He asked. The woman giggled girlishly before opening the door wider and beckoning him inside.   
"Sherlock, of course." She grinned.

"Mrs Hudson!" A shrill shout came from the lounge. The elderly woman, that John presumed was Mrs Hudson, flinched.   
"Come on in, dear." She whispered, and with a hand at the small of John's back, ushered him further into the house, until they toed the threshold of the lounge. Reclined on the large sofa was the same pale, raven haired, woman from before. "John." She greeted cooly.

The blond gulped before smiling softly. "Yes, Mrs Holmes." The woman rose from her position and sauntered closer to the man. She wore a predatory grin that crinkled her smooth face.  
"My son seems quite taken with you." She stated. "Which is why I specifically requested you upon the change to his care plan. Have you been made aware of this?" She asked, her silver eyes bore into John. That gaze seemed to intrude on each one of John's thoughts, he almost thought he wouldn't have to answer as Mrs Holmes seemed to already be privy to anything he would have to say or think. She raised an impatient eyebrow at his silence.

"Y-Yes." John stuttered. "I was told this." He nodded and silently berated himself for allowing the woman to intimidate him. She grinned wolfishly, like the cat that got the cream and and smiled at him.   
"Then I am sure that you are well aware of Sherlock's predicament."

John couldn't help the puzzlement that came over his face. "Predicament?" He asked dumbly. The woman seemed to hoot with laughter before fixing him with a penetrating gaze once more, except this didn't only seem to molest his thoughts, but pinned him place too. 

"My son is mentally unstable, he is disabled and needs twenty-four hour care. The face that you do not know this worries me greatly. Are you aware of my son's care plan?" She asked.

John blanched and shook his head. "Not entirely, no." He muttered in response.  
"My son needs help eating, if he does not eat then he must be made to eat, or he will waste away. My son needs to be showered, if he does not let you do this, then you must impose yourself upon him to do this. My son also needs help socialising. But that is the last of our worries." She exclaimed. John shook his head in what seemed like denial.  
"You want me to force care upon Sherlock? That's not how caring works. Least of all what he needs." He told her. "Sherlock seems fine, just with a lot of social anxiety." He told her, and on reflection, it didn't seem to be surprising that he had social anxiety if his mother expects people to take away his dignity and respect.

Mrs Holmes paused. She watched John carefully for a moment before nodding softly. "I shall have a word with your superiors. In the meantime, you sound awfully like my late husband. I can see why Sherlock likes you so." Her attention strayed from John and fell on Mrs Hudson. "Take John upstairs to see Sherlock. I am quite contented." She muttered before slinking back to the sofa.

John breathed a sigh of relief before he felt pressure on his arm for Mrs Hudson's delicate hand, "Come on, son." She muttered and guided him to the stairs.


End file.
